Chapter Text
War was unforgiving, both Banquo and Macbeth understood that now. After being called upon to join the war effort for the Battle of Monzievaird, going North of Crieff, killing King Kenneth III.
It was bloody. Gruesome murders took place in front of him, by their hands. It left scars on the two boys, only 15 years old at the time, both on their bodies and their minds.
“Thou shalt not kill anymore,” Macbeth mumbled, face covered in blood as they sat in the back of a wagon, heading back home. He was trembling, the cold bleeding into his skin, the tattered combat uniform offering little help. “Thee afraid?”
Macbeth was addressing Banquo, the question asked in a fearful voice. He didn’t want to seem weak or admit defeat. It was more like trying to find a baseline on how Banquo was feeling, trying to match emotions to his and make sense of his own. Macbeth always looked up to Banquo, followed behind him like a shadow; Macbeth did as Banquo did.
“If thou art afraid,” Banquo starts, wiping at his bloody face with his sleeve. He did not make it out of the battle unscathed. “Then that proves you are only human. I feel it is alright to be frightened.”
Banquo saw what happened, stood by Macbeth’s side through it all. Anyone who wasn’t afraid could not possibly be human. The devil found his way into one’s soul and wouldn’t let go, that didn’t happen with Macbeth, as he was remorseful, scared.
Banquo was horrified by the battle as well. He felt the same way on the inside as Macbeth looked on the outside. He had to keep steady for the both of them, it wouldn’t do them any good if they both spiraled.
-
The journey back home was long, constantly jostled by the galloping horse. They had to stop frequently to give the animal a break, the sun setting as they rested against a cover of rocky terrain.
“I shall keep first watch,” Banquo insisted, setting down his pack where Macbeth had settled against the dirt. “You need rest.”
“Art thou certain?” Macbeth questioned, voice rough with exhaustion. He wasn’t going to argue with the man, but he didn’t want to seem frail.
Banquo just nodded and they both settled.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
The ringing in the men’s ears lingered from the battle. The clink of swords, the squealing of dying horses, and the crying from hurt men. It took a while for them to invite the silence with welcoming arms and Macbeth finally fell asleep.
The dreams didn’t come at first. Macbeth was in and out of slumber for quite a while. When he did fall asleep, he wanted nothing more than to walk up.